


dead weight, flat rate

by beamkatanachronicles, nicht_alles_Gold



Category: No More Heroes (Video Games), シルバー事件 | The Silver Case
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Explicit Language, Gen, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 10:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamkatanachronicles/pseuds/beamkatanachronicles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicht_alles_Gold/pseuds/nicht_alles_Gold
Summary: Assassins want Travis’ head, and the Regional Adjustment Bureau wants answers. Travis just wants his AmiAmi delivery.Takes place sometime after NMH2, but coinciding with characters from the 25th Ward (it's all GHM so that's allowed).





	dead weight, flat rate

**Author's Note:**

> Started as a crossover idea I typed out like a workhorse and beamkatanachronicles vastly improved with writing a lot of it, especially Travis, and editing and honestly making all of it way better. This was mostly written pre-TSA so if anything is accidentally nostradamused it was just that!
> 
> Stuff in italics is usually Japanese, and no, Travis can't understand it (until the end and it's only Japanese speakers, then it's just regular). Also, don’t get too excited, Travis jerks off for a paragraph but it’s not, like, sexy or anything.

Like the master of an ancient, mystical library, his fingers ran over the spines of his collection, until he stopped on one, tapped it once, and then pulled it from his shelf.

“Anal Torment 2,” Travis read aloud, satisfied, “It’s been a while.”

After shedding his jacket, he popped the disc into his PC, settling down with a box of tissues, lotion on the floor. His hand fell into practiced, familiar motions all too easily as the actress squealed and panted in equally practiced and familiar motions. He practically knew each moan by heart, so the faint scuffling sound coming from his door only made him turn up the volume with a click of his tongue. Fucking mailman better have been delivering the vinyl figure he’d been waiting on for _weeks._

A louder thump made the thin walls shudder, and he jumped up, jabbing the space bar with impotent fury to pause. “I need five fucking minutes,” he growled, zipping his pants and stomping to the door, then throwing it open.

Two guys with suits stood staring, as surprised as he was annoyed. “What? What the fuck do you want?” His eyes darted over them, one taller and older— stubbly— the other smaller and cuter, if you were into that. They were both in suits, raising his suspicion meter. “Are you from a church or some shit? Not fucking interested.”

 _“Oh. He’s here. Crap.”_ Osato looked to Tsuki with question mark eyes. _“What do you wanna do?"_

Tsuki, who had been trying to force the cheap door open, looked back. _"What’s he saying?"_

“Hey, I don’t understand fucking moonspeak!”

“Moon…?” Osato attempted, frowning. No dice. " _Um. He’s mad._ "

_"Anyone can tell that. I thought you knew English?"_

" _I know_ **some** _English, I’m better at reading it_ —"

“Both of you can eat shit.” Travis started to close the door, but Tsuki’s hand moved faster, barring it open with a slam. Now he was way more wary than annoyed.

" _Nice, Tsuki! Anyway, I know something he’ll understand._ " Osato drew his gun, with that spooky, worrying smile, and pointed it.

Sure enough, a gun needed no translation. “Are you fucking kidding?” Travis backed off, running through the scenarios in his head and carefully reaching for the beam katana hanging from his waist. His draw was fast, but not _bullet_ fast, not at this range. One wrong move and he’d be dead before he could even turn the katana on.

" _Ooh, Tsuki, having a gun in America is so much cooler._ "

But they didn’t _look_ like UAA stragglers. If they were, there wouldn’t be this language barrier. What kind of boss battle didn’t have some dramatic pre-fight conversation? All these fucking Jeeves and Wooster did was whip a pistol out and start talking over him.

" _Why? They all have guns here._ "

" _Yeah,_ " Osato waved his free hand flippantly, " _But I’m like, a gangster. Bang!_ "

Like, they could at _least_ acknowledge him if they were trying to kill him.

" _You’ve shot people before, why is it exciting now?_ " Tsuki turned on his partner, impatient. " _No, really, I want to know, cause I’m pretty sure the plan was to not draw attention, and now you’re waving a gun around, and if you shoot him, people are going to_ **know**."

Or even actually _pay attention_ to him. What were they gonna do, chat about the weather then gun him down like some two-bit thug? Hell no. He ventured another step back, slowly beginning to unclip his katana.  

“ _Tsuki, don’t get mad at me! I won’t shoot, okay?_ _I promise._ ”

But at the second Travis was prepared to draw his weapon, they were still… just talking. And talking. The cute (?) one’s finger wasn’t even on the trigger anymore. It only took a moment for his confusion to give way to anger. What kind of fuckin’ disrespect…  

Tsuki sighed wearily. " _Fine. But clean-up’s your responsibility if you..._ " He broke off, having finally glanced at the screen past their captive. " _Fuck, is that porn?_ "

If they weren’t even gonna bother to take him seriously, how were they going to fight at all? Enough already.

" _Gross, he’s got tissues too! Oh hey, I recognize that actress, she_ —"

“Hey!” snapped Travis, brandishing the handle of his katana at them. The taller one recoiled, stepping back and making a move for some inevitable weapon in his pocket. The other stared in great interest, fascinated by what was apparently a real ass lightsaber. “Am I interrupting something? English, motherfuckers, do you speak it?!”

" _Ohhh, oh!_ " Osato’s face lit up as he slapped his fist— still holding the gun— into his free hand. (And both Tsuki and Travis winced in anticipation of an accidental gunshot.) " _I know that!_ "

"What are you—?"

“Pulp Fiction!” Osato said, excitedly, nodding at Travis, " _Right?_ "

Wait. What. Blood Berry emitted an electric hum as Travis, dumbfounded, lowered the weapon. “Y-yeah. You seen it?” Travis grinned awkwardly: more of a grimace than a smile, really. At the very least his grasping reference seemed to be actually taking them somewhere.

“ _What are you talking about? That movie?_ ”

“ _Yeah! You know, Tarantino_. Tarantino!” He repeated, looking at Travis for approval.

“Yeah! Tarantino!” Fuck if he knew _where_ they were going, but at least _something_ was getting through to these guys. And he wasn’t getting shot at, so: win-win. In fact, these guys could _be_ from Pulp Fiction. All they were missing was a briefcase.

“I’m Jules!” piped Osato, pointing to himself. Then, to Tsuki’s dismay, he excitedly slapped his partner on the shoulder. “ _Tsuki, you’re Vincent!”_

“ _Don’t make me the one who dies.”_

“Soooo… okay, I think I got it.” Travis looked back and forth from, uh, Jules to Vincent. “You’re partners? I guess?”

“Yes! _That’s the word!_ Partners.” Osato nodded confidently. “ _See, I told you I wasn’t gonna shoot him, Tsuki._ ”

Tsuki raised a brow. “ _Osato, where are you going with this?_ ”

“ _Trust me.”_

Tsuki didn’t have time to protest Osato lowering his gun and holding up his other hand in a show of surrender. He didn’t put the gun _away,_ so at least they weren’t completely at the mercy of this guy’s light… sword, or whatever the hell it was. Either way, Tsuki was prepared to pull his knife out at any point, should Osato’s brilliant plan happen to go sour.

“ _Um, we need a…_ Computer?” Osato gestured to the porn filled screen.

“Oh… okay?” Travis was letting these people, likely here to kill him, into his place, to use his computer. Cool. He even flicked his beam katana’s switch to ‘off’, sending the blade of light instantly retreating into its handle. Realistically, this wasn’t the weirdest thing that could’ve happened this to him this week alone, so he was willing to just, you know. Let it happen.

“Thank you, thank you,” Osato said sweetly, in his best American accent (which was bad). He sauntered up to the computer and put his gun down on the table next to it.

“ _Osato_.” Tsuki said, voice somewhere between a warning and a very tired sigh.

“ _Okay, okay_.” He reached and scooched the gun slightly closer.

Good enough. Satisfied, Tsuki took the chance to glance over at their target. His eyes, unfortunately, were aimed low. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Travis caught his withering gaze, turned around, and untucked his shirt to hide the obvious chubby haphazardly shoved into his pants.

Osato clicked on the screen, and porno noises blared as an extremely large buttplug was pressed against—

“Fuck, fuck, hold on, here,” Travis whirled back around and leapt to fix it, anxiously clicking out of the video as if he’d been walked in on mid-jerk. “Okay, there.”

Osato opened the web browser, clicked to search, put his fingers on the keyboard, tapped a few keys and… frowned. “ _Wait, what? This isn’t right._ ”

“ _It’s an_ **English** _keyboard_.” Tsuki couldn’t help but rub his temples. They’d just arrived and he already could tell things were only going to become stupider.

On the other hand, Osato took this setback in stride and looked up at Travis, his appointed helper. “ _Ah..._ “ Coming up with nothing, he pointed at the keys, and mimed tapping them. “ _Niho_ — Japanese?”

“Oh, the… yeah, I got that keyboard, I used it for… stuff.” And by “stuff”, he meant he downloaded it after a single session of Japanese class at Santa Destroy Community College and used it only once, since he stopped going about a week later. It had proved useless in finding obscure Japanese doujin. “I don’t really know how to use it.” He paused, while clicking at various computer setup windows. “...Why am I saying all this to you, fuck.”

Keeping one eye on the two of them, because he wasn’t at all comfortable with this hardon-sporting creep, Tsuki looked around. This place was disgusting. Anime figures, wrestling memorabilia, all varieties of porn, mingled with the smell of stale clothes, food, and the overall aura of a young man’s jerkoff chamber. He’d seen American otaku even in the wards but hadn’t encountered any firsthand. It wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat. In fact, just being around this guy was kinda annoying. This loser— hovering around Osato like IT— was supposed to be a world class assassin? He nudged a pile of imported magazines with his foot to spread them and regretted it. “ _Housewives So Covered They Don’t Need Mosaics!! Filthy Facemasks!! Jealous Husbands Take it Too!! Bukkake Virgins!!”_

Osato finished typing an eternity later. “ _Okay, there._ ” He helpfully pointed at the screen for Travis. Tsuki moved to see what he’d written, so he and Travis shared an awkward glance before reading over his shoulders. Hopefully it wasn’t _completely_ stupid.

“ _Hello! We are from Japan. I’m Osato, and this is Tsuki. We are from the Regional Adjustment_ —”

That was far enough. “ _Osato_.”

“ _Yeah_?”

“ _Do you think this is a good plan, really? Telling him all this so freely_?” His tone made Osato look back and shrug.

“ _He hasn’t really done anything_.”

Travis leaned closer to the screen: “I am Osato, this is... included…? Included with what?”

“ _He pulled a sword on us,_ ” Tsuki continued, ignoring Travis.

_“I pulled a gun on him! So, you know, it’s like, even.”_

_“Even? We’re not here to be fair, we’re not his friends.”_

_“Tsuki, you’re always the one trying to talk things out first! But now that it’s my plan, you’re like, saying it’s stupid!”_

Tsuki’s lips pursed. He _kinda_ had a point, except…“ _We can’t actually talk to him though…”_

“ _Then, this is a good idea, huh?_ ” More pointing at the computer. Tsuki sighed.

“‘Suddenly, sorry, we are here to handle you’,” Travis read. “Handle as in—”

_Knock knock._

They all turned toward the door. “Should I get that?” Travis asked.

Tsuki responded with a nod, fully understandable, so Travis did, cautiously approaching. “You guys aren’t expecting any more friends for this party, right?” His quip earned two blank stares. (“ _He said something about a party_ — _” “I_ **know** _...”)_ As nonchalantly as possible, he opened the door to a mailman with a package in hand.

“Great, _finally_.” No matter what the hell was going on, Travis was always going to appreciate the delivery of a new figure. He squinted his eyes at the mailman’s face— it wasn’t the usual guy. Lots of strangers at his place for one day.

“Of course,” the mailman said, with a somewhat sinister tone.

“Thanks!” Travis replied. He closed the door, either ignoring the conspicuously new mailman or totally unaware. Probably the latter. The PVC waifu in the box was way more important than some sketchy deliveryman. He held the box slightly away from his body, as if he were admiring a huge precious gem. “I’ve been waiting weeks for this!”

Travis looked up to meet two uncaring expressions. Again. Why did he keep looking for feedback? He gave the taller one a skeptical glare as he began to step closer. “What, I’m not supposed to open my shit up? What’s your deal, man, do you wanna— _HEY!_ ”

He was going to ask if he wanted to look at it (and his response would’ve been “no”, Sonico was his precious waifu, no one else’s) but wasn’t afforded the opportunity, as Tsuki snatched it from his hands.

“ _This is pretty suspicious, right?_ ”

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Travis nearly stumbled over himself trying to wrest the package back from Tsuki. “I paid good money for that!”

“ _Oh yeah, totally suspish!_ ” Osato agreed.

Tsuki dodged Travis and held the box to his ear. He maybe heard something… or maybe not. Still, didn’t hurt to be safe; he wasn’t about to risk his and Osato’s life to kill this guy.

“I _said_ what the _fuck_ are you—”

Tsuki pushed him away with one hand, like swatting a fly. As if he’d practiced these movements his entire life, he opened the door, stepped outside, and dropkicked the package off the balcony and into the parking lot where it landed with a resounding _crunch_. It sat motionless on the pavement.

Travis’ jaw dropped.

“... _Hm, might’ve been wrong._ ”

“You fucking piece of shit!” Finally recovered from the shock, Travis picked his jaw up off the floor, expression contorting with rage. “That figure cost me five _hundred_ ,” he flicked the katana in his hand, so it extended and lit up, the vibrating noise the backing beat to his fury, “Fucking. Dollars! It was only available in a lotto! _Do you know how expensive it was to get that proxy to get it? Do you, you_ FUCK?” Who gave a shit if they knew what he said, they’d understand _this_ :

He lunged forward, and Tsuki dodged back, glancing over his shoulder to double-check— not much room to maneuver. With Osato, even less space. His knife seemed to appear in his hand like magic, and he held it with his arm bent, defensively.

“Don’t bring a knife to a sword fight, cocksucker!” Travis slashed horizontally, wildly, forcing Tsuki backwards until he brushed against the wall. A few of the masks rocked above, and a pin fell out of the tacked-up poster behind him.

“ _Tsuki, should I shoot now?”_  Osato asked, still seated.

“ _Yeah, I don’t wanna see him cry when he cuts his anime shit in half.”_

In one long moment, Travis arched the katana back, Osato cocked his gun, Tsuki eyed the throat he would aim for into in the unlikely case Osato missed—

_Boom._

The apartments shook, dust shaking into the air around them. Their rattled silence afterwards was cut by the sound of detritus sprinkling down onto the roof and balcony. The explosion was small, but a small explosion would still have been a deadly one in the confines of this apartment.

“ _Ahh, I missed it! Fuck!”_ Osato swore, hopping up to peer out the window. “ _I really wanna see an explosion!”_

“Wh— what the _fuck?!”_

Stunned, Travis followed Osato’s lead. Tsuki relaxed, now that the man’s katana wasn’t an issue. “ _You should’ve been watching then. Hey, write on the computer we’re gonna go after that guy, we’ll come back later for adjustment. He won’t go anywhere._ ” This guy wasn’t a runner, Tsuki could tell with his finely honed skills. (Mostly, he guessed an otaku of this caliber couldn’t abandon his life’s collection.)

“ _Got it._ ”

Travis panted like the fight had lasted hours. His katana’s blade, low on charge and beeping sadly, seemed to follow suit as it shrunk his hands. But he was already defeated, regret flooding his brain. He could’ve died via an exploding figure: he didn’t need to humiliate himself any further by jerking his sword around right now. Even he, Travis Touchdown, knew dying for anime was the saddest fate anyone could ask for. He stared blankly as Osato, bent over the computer, continued typing happily. He’d seen so much crazy shit, but this really cut deep. Why would someone do this to him? Santa Destroy’s Favorite Son? The No More Hero? America’s Sweetheart? Okay, maybe there were a lot of reasons to want to take him out to be fair, but bugging a figure was a whole new low. Osato tugging on his shirt sleeve snapped him out of it, and Travis forced himself to read his newly-translated message.

“‘We will catch that man now.’ Okay.” Even though his mood was currently #santaDESTROYED, his eyebrows drew together as he continued. “‘I will stay here and come’... huh?”

His confusion didn’t transfer, and Tsuki headed for the door. “ _Let’s go, we’re going to need all the time we can get_.”

“ _Yeah, right._ ” He waved at Travis, over-exaggerated. “Bye!”

“Wait, wait, let me go…” He scowled and held up a finger, trying to ask for a minute. Osato hesitated long enough for Travis to pull out his phone and use that instead of messing with the computer.

Osato read, then tilted his head. “ _Tsuki, I guess he wants to come…?_ ”

“ _No._ ” Giving it a second, Tsuki reconsidered. They’d be _sure_ he wasn’t on the run, and it was possible he could be useful in a few ways. They could even kill him out in the field and not have to return to this pit, disconnecting his death from this location and giving them an easy method of body disposal. If he decided to try and turn on them or had some kind of trap planned, he’d be in for a rude awakening. “ _Ask him why._ ”

“ _Why?_ ” Osato repeated, head tipped.

Travis needed no translation, and his eyes narrowed. “Nani? Nani, cause I want fucking revengeance.”

 

* * *

 

Keys jangling in hand, Travis turned to lock up, but a plaintive “meow” stopped him in his tracks. He stuck his head back in. Of course she woke up _after_ all the commotion (or pretended to). “Sorry, Jeane, you’ll have to wait a few… hours? I dunno…” A more urgently issued “meow!” made him feel guilty, and he crouched down, because she wouldn’t be afraid to force her way out if he didn’t put his hand in the way. “No food ‘till I get back, alright? You need to lose weight anyway.”

“Meow!”

“Look, it’s not me, you know what the vet said—”  
“ _Did you hear that, Tsuki? It’s a cat!_ ” Osato crouched down next to Travis, uninvited. “ _I wanna see it._ ”

Travis’s glance over to him was enough distraction for Jeane to push her way out, with a disgruntled “prow”. She had regained all her weight and then some, her body rubbing against both of their legs without her actually trying to do so.

“ _Ts-tsuki,_ ” Osato said, breathlessly, “ _It’s fat… it’s so fat!_ ” Without asking, he scooped his arms under her, hefting the cat up in a forklift motion as she wriggled in protest. “ _So fat and so soft! Tsuki, you have to pet her!”_ He struggled (desperately) to stand. Jeane wasn’t so pleased but couldn’t do anything to escape.

“Careful!” Travis urged.

Tsuki sighed. Osato’s insistent expression worked too well on him, and he reached out a reluctant hand to scratch her head. Damn, it was soft…

“ _When we kill him we have to take this cat with us. Shit, I gotta think of a name…_ ”

“ _We can’t take it._ ” Imagining Osato taking care of a living thing stressed him out. “ _You’ll forget about it, I bet._ ” Then would he be stuck taking care of it? Taking care of living things stressed him out too.

“ _Hmm. Let’s give it to the boss. Then it can be an office pet._ ”

“ _You can’t shirk off responsibilites you_ **just** _took on…_ ”

Jeane grumbled, and Travis finally took her from Osato, possessively stroking down her back. “They better not’ve been talking shit about you.”

Osato shot him a smile. “American cat!”

“What’s that supposed to mean? She’s just a little— ugh, no, we need to go!” Kissing her head, and ignoring the look she was shooting him (“you let him _touch_ me!”) he put her back down inside, then quickly shut the door before she could have her way again.

“ _Hear me out._ ” continued Osato as they descended the stairs. Behind them, there was a noise that sounded a whole lot like a cat raking its claws against a door. “ _The RAB could have a mascot. It might even raise morale…”_

 

* * *

 

Travis felt like a little kid strapped into the backseat, but considering everything, this was more a voluntary kidnapping. They’d worked out a sketchy plan where they would track down the mailman (he was personally in it for revenge, but why these two cared wasn’t elaborated on), figure out what was happening, and then… something about being “handled” translating didn’t clarify further.

Thinking it over anyone would conclude that probably meant being killed, not one of his current interests. But if he went with them, he could get his revenge, and they wouldn’t be surprise stabbing him in the back. He’d gotten this far throwing caution to the wind, why start being careful now?

“ _Tsuki, stop, stop!”_

_“You see him?”_

_“There’s a donut_ — _”_ Tsuki drove on without missing a beat. “ _Aw…”_

 _“...We’ll find you some snacks later_ ,” Tsuki relented. “ _When we work everything out_.”

Expectedly, their search was yielding no results. Even with Travis’s familiarity with the streets and strange alleys, there was no catching someone with such a headstart in the convoluted streets of Santa Destroy. He couldn’t even give decent directions.

A memory rose in Travis’s mind, and before he could think it over, he nudged Osato’s arm pointed to himself. “Uh, watashi wa Travis,” he said, in his best Japanese accent (which was bad), “That’s right, right?”

Close enough. Osato nodded and smiled. “Travis Touchdown,” he said, leaning heavily on his accent, “Cool name!”

It wasn’t exactly a surprise they knew his full name (well, it was a little scary). But he was ready to be proud of himself, even if it was one of three Japanese sentences he could actually manage. “Yeah, right?” Travis grinned. “And your name was, uh…”

“Osato. Yotaro Osato.” He glanced at Tsuki, whose face clearly read “you don’t have to tell him your full name”. “Tsuki,” Osato continued simply. “Tsuki…-san?”

“ _If you can’t remember my name...”_

_“I know it! I’m being respectful.”_

_“Sure.”_

“Tsuki, huh? Like Sailor Moon’s last name.”

Osato’s expression turned puzzled. “Sailor Moon…? _This guy likes talking about the moon a lot._ ”

“Yeah, Sailor… nevermind.” Totally blase— and for Sailor Moon, to boot. Honestly, he was pretty disappointed, couldn’t they appreciate their own culture? He couldn’t make good conversation with them about highly relevant topics, _and_ they were aimlessly driving with no hope of finding this delivery guy. If he actually could communicate he could figure out why they were here to kill him and dissuade them, somehow. First things first, figuring out why this _other_ guy wanted to kill him, and maybe take him on three-on-one. Those were good odds, right?

“We’re never going to find him like this,” Travis sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, then self-consciously patting it again, because he was going to rub all the gel out. “We need to… oh, lemme see my phone.” Travis quickly (cursing at every bump they crossed) wrote out that he had an idea.

“ _Tsuki, do you think that deliveryman was with us, or not?”_ Osato bit his lip thoughtfully. “ _It seems really coincidental. I guess it could’ve been unrelated but it seems… you know.”_

Tsuki pulled over to the side of the road for their guest to do whatever he was up to. A side benefit to this language barrier was being able to openly discuss anything at all. “ _Could be. I thought he wasn’t marked for adjustment, because this was a job for the RAB. Since we were meant to be so in-and-out we didn’t even get any contact info for their diver, but they knew we’d be around. If I knew this would go down, I would’ve arranged to meet instead of just picking up our gear at the drop box._ ” He frowned, and tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “ _And I don’t know what kind of shit they get up to here, but what kind of idiot hand delivers a bomb?_ ”

Travis was grimly flicking through his phone contacts. He needed info; unfortunately there was significant crossover in people he knew and people who might not mind if he died. He had to make a judgement call on who he thought groveling might work on. He bit his tongue and tapped a name close to the bottom. It was still a big, _big_ maybe…

Straight to voicemail. “C’mon…” he muttered to himself, trying again. This time it rang through, and he hesitated, almost leaving a message before hanging up. He clicked over to text her but the last and only thing he’d sent her was a meme she hadn’t responded to, and now it felt awkward as hell. One more attempt.

“What, Travis?” She sounded like she’d rather spit than say his name.

“H-hey, um, I’m really sorry—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to hang up.”

“ _Wait_ wait wait please it’s important,” he begged, “I might… die?”

“Good.”

God. She sounded serious. She was still pretty mad at him about _that_ (he still wasn’t exactly sure what _that_ was). Travis swallowed. “Here, here, will you talk to someone else? He’s uh, Japanese though hold on—”

“What—”

He fumbled the phone to Osato. Did he really deserve death? It felt a little harsh…

“ _Ah… hello?_ ”

“ _Who are you?”_

_“Yotaro Osato.”_

There was a pause on the other end. “ _Should I know you?”_

“ _I don’t think so.”_

_“Is he really going to die?”_

_“Yep!”_

_“Do you… want him to?”_ Thrust into this situation, she sounded very unsure of what was to be expected here.

“ _Umm. Personally no, but like, professionally yes.”_ He glanced back at Travis. “ _Maybe we should meet. He doesn’t know Japanese, so it’s really hard to talk to him about the the deliveryman and that bomb and stuff.”_

Shinobu was silent on the other line. At last, lowering her voice, she replied. “ _Fine. I know somewhere discreet. I’m going to text you an address. Meet me there, and you better make it snappy._ ”

“ _Wait, where_ —” Click. Osato didn’t even have time to argue. He wrinkled his nose and tossed Travis his phone back.

“What’d she say?” Travis blinked down at the notification on his screen, then held it up to Osato. “Uh, she texted me an address, so I guess that’s where we’re headed. Turn left up there. Left.”

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later, the three of them were crammed into one side of a booth at the only Slowly’s location in Santa Destroy. The woman they’d spoken to on the phone— sporting a pastel-colored leather jacket, an assortment of cute hairclips in her voluminous white hair, and an ice-cold scowl— was _still_ on her phone. She texted absently, her acrylic nails idly tapping against her just-as-pastel decora case.

“ _Tsuki, this is weird._ ”

“ _Yeah, I know._ ”

“You know, Travis,” she said, without looking up, “I’m not always gonna be around to bail you out like this.” She didn’t even offer him a passing glance. (Travis stared shamefully into his strawberry milkshake.) Finally, she met Tsuki’s eyes and switched effortlessly to Japanese. “ _What do you want with him? The UAA’s gone, so this can’t possibly be some rankings dispute.”_

 _“We’re here to investigate…”_ Tsuki started, then stopped. How did you explain criminal power to people who weren’t in the know? “ _Basically, we’re investigating a certain kind of extreme criminal who’s been a problem in Japan, which may have contaminated America as well. An assassin who’s taken out other assassins fits the bill, so extermination is our solution.”_

“‘ _Contaminate’? You make it sound like an infection.”_ Her visible eye ran over Travis, as if trying to detect something out of the ordinary. “ _He’s just an extreme idiot.”_

“ _To be honest, we’re only doing our job.”_ Taking a sip of red bean milk tea after the words he’d said felt pretty stupid, but talking about serious shit while consuming too much sugar was pretty standard when you were partnered with Osato. _“Anyway, with his record, us or… someone like us will take him out, sooner or later. Better that than the other option, trust me._ ”

Osato looked back and forth between the two of them and continued slurping away at his melon milk tea. “ _Right now, it’s us or that mailman, you know?_ ” His straw squeaked as he pushed it up and down against the plastic lid. _“At least we’ll keep it clean.”_

_“There’s nothing ‘clean’ about getting milk tea with the guy we were supposed to process. And a friend he called for help.”_

_“Um, I meant it literally? Also, I don’t think they’re exactly friends...”_

“Wait, you said—” Shinobu frowned. “ _I get it, you’re supposed to take him out. What’s the mailman got to do with it? And you said something about a bomb, right?”_

Both Tsuki and Osato leaned in closer. Travis inched further into the corner of the booth, feeling a lot like a fourth wheel and quickly running out of milkshake-buffer.

 _“He delivered a bomb to his place while we were there_ ,” Tsuki replied.

“ _So the thing is… the mailman could be with us? Sorta? Our bureau is_ — _”_ Osato demonstrated by stacking his hands, “— _there’s layers…”_

 _“Bureaucracy.”_ Shinobu cut to the point.

“ _Oh! Yeah. Um, so it’s even more confusing since we’re in America so it’s like, we don’t know anyone in charge here either, and even if we did, we’d look stupid if we call up and go, ‘are you killing this guy or are we,’ so it’s better to work things out on our own. And calling home would look even worse.”_ Osato took a mad slurp of his melon milk tea. “ _Oh, he could just be a crazy bomberman, too.”_

“What the fuck.”

“What the fuck!” repeated Osato in the affirmative, gesturing at Shinobu with his drink. _“It’d be a hella weird coincidence, right? I can’t believe he’s got this many hits out on him at once!”_

 _“I can,”_ Shinobu replied, deadpan.

“ _What Osato is trying to say is right now, we’re putting his processing on hold until we can get to the bottom of this_.” Tsuki glanced over at Travis.

A cynical laugh. “ _You’re calling it ‘processing’?_ _That’s real cute.”_

“What’s kawaii, now? That’s good, right?”

“Shut up, Travis. _So what do you want from me? No offence, but I’m not translating for him.”_

 _“Right now we’re looking for info, actually_ ,” Tsuki said, finally giving up on his half full drink, “ _We need to find that mailman. He wanted to talk to you, so I assume you’ve got some kind of connections…”_

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. “ _I don’t wanna get involved. Especially not with the post office.”_

 _“Please!_ You’re our only hope!” Osato smiled at the reference, and Travis perked up but went back to pondering his shake when it was clear he was still not invited to this conversation. “ _Tsuki, are you done with your drink? Mine was shitty.”_ It was still completely empty, every bit of rainbow jelly and lychee popping boba consumed. Tsuki, stone-faced, pushed his drink over.

“... _Fine. I heard something from a friend that might fit the bill. I’ll text you an address._ ” Shinobu spoke slowly. “ _But I don’t wanna hear from him again.”_

 _“We can delete your number from his phone?”_ Osato asked.

“ _Aren’t you going to kill him?”_

“ _Oh! Yeah! That too.”_

Maybe the briefest glimpse of a smile crossed Shinobu’s lips. “ _I’m going now. Thanks for the drink.”_ She stood, immediately heading for the door.

Travis tried to stand suddenly, but as squished into the corner of the booth as he was, he only succeeded at banging his legs against the table. “Sh— Shinobu, wait!” he said, wincing. “You talked them out of killing me, right?”

Shinobu turned. She shrugged, tossing her empty drink into the trash. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

* * *

 

Travis did his best to direct them to Shinobu’s location, but it was safe to say he was more than a little distracted. Completely unsure of what she had told them, he could only hope they weren’t about to turn into an empty lot that was going to become his grave. And there wasn’t really anyone else he felt like he could call to bail out… shit. Lost in thought, he nearly missed the incoming turn to the address she’d given. “Oh, shit, here, right, _right_ , that driveway.” He stuck his arm up front to point wildly with only a couple hundred feet of notice.

Osato jolted forward in the front seat as Tsuki, grumbling, made a hard turn. Dumbass couldn’t even give decent directions.

This wasn’t an area of Santa Destroy Travis was very familiar with; it was almost under the freeway leading out to the desert, and the only nearby structures were dirty warehouses and empty office parks. He craned his neck to look up at the building they were pulling up to: it wasn’t quite dilapidated, and despite its dingy windows and faded sign, there were lights on inside, and a scattering of cars in the parking lot. “Seriously… a post office?” This couldn’t be right, it was _way_ too obvious, and who the hell used a post office out here? He grabbed his phone to double check the address while Osato all but pressed his nose to the passenger’s side window.

“ _This is totally the kinda place a crazy bomber guy would be_ ,” Osato said. “ _This is cool.”_

They parked, and all stepped out as if this was normal. Travis shaded his screen, trying to write back to double-check with Shinobu (like she would answer), but Osato skipped inside, Tsuki on his heels, so Travis went too. This was wrong, for sure.

Especially when they got inside, and there was a _line_. “What the fuc—” he began, before he spied the familiar-looking worker at the counter “—That’s him!” The guy looked up, startled, and rushed through a door to the back. “Shit… well, whatever, stealth isn’t my specialty.”

“Can you watch your _language_?” hissed a mom at the end of the line, her two children clutched to her thighs like a partridge.

“What? No. Fuck off.”

A great big fat guy with a huge mustache turned to look at him. “Is this guy trying to cut the line?”

“I’ll fucking cut all of you! Hey, Osato, do your…” He made a finger gun.

“Oh, fuck yeah!!” Osato chirped while drawing his gun, clearly excited to use his favorite English phrases. The line definitely wasn’t an issue now: almost instantaneously, the other people scattered for the doors or retreated to the edges of the room, as far away from the armed maniac in a post office as possible. “Motherfuckers!! Eat shit, cocksuckers!!” Tsuki could practically see a punk CD spinning in his head. “I’ll kill you all! _Time to die, shitheads!_ ” He was even starting to get into the Japanese lyrics… The few people left were variously whimpering, crying, or too startled into silence to care he’d suddenly switched languages.

The big guy fumbled for something at his waist. “You probably shouldn’t do that,” Travis thinly warned, but he still drew out a weighty handgun, huffing not menacingly, and pointed it at the three of them. “Goddamn, are you stupid or what!”

Travis barely noticed, but as the man’s eyes slid over to focus on him for his comment, Tsuki slid forward, and bashed his head with the butt of his knife, knocking him out cleanly. “ _Osato, we should try and limit casualties, okay? There’s no cleaning crew to fix this.”_ He looked at the horrified remaining people and frowned. “ _Uh, they should leave before this gets complicated…”_ He gestured to the door, and then shot Travis a look.

“Uh, we’re not here for you, so I guess… go…?” The mass of man on the floor wasn’t exactly reassuring, apparently. “Get the fuck out?” The mother managed, trembling as she scampered out, and an old woman who had been ahead struggled to get around the body, the couple others in line not spending any time helping her escape.

“ _Sorry Tsuki, my bad!”_

“ _It’s not an excuse that he got you all excited. We don’t even have the time to adjust them all right now...”_ He grumbled, stepping around the body. _“Let’s hurry this up.”_

“ _Alright…”_ Osato stopped, and bent down to grab the gun the man had drawn. “ _Look at this, Tsuki! It’s like, barely used. So heavy…”_ He picked it up and pointed it around, tongue sticking out a little. “ _What’s that…_ You feeling lucky, punk?” Travis tried to ignore it was aimed at him, and how hilarious Osato looked holding it. He tried to imagine any Japanese cop (or Japanese… whatever they were, probably _not_ cops) using a Magnum. “ _Can I keep it, Tsuki?”_

“ _No.”_ It was better this than the cat, but Osato would forget about both of them soon enough. “ _You’ll dislocate your arm with the kickback. By the way, why do you keep referencing movies? You don’t usually.”_

 _“Oh… It feels appropriate here, or something…”_ He frowned thoughtfully. “ _I dunno why.”_

Travis strode past the counter and through the door with Tsuki and Osato close behind. The back room, lined with shelves and nearby bins for sorting mail, was dark and empty— besides the mysterious delivery man who faced them with his back pressed against the furthest wall. “It’s after five, we’re closed,” he shouted.

“Oh, really? Well, I’ll just leave.” Travis rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You blew up my Super Sonico, you piece of shit!”

“Hah. Fine, I’ll be totally clear.” He pointed grandly. “I’m going to kill you all, but especially you, Travis Touchdown.”

“ _Especially_ me? Fuck, if I had gotten a P.O. Box at the annex, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Travis grumbled to himself, “Alright, what the fuck’s your deal. And hurry it up.” Now that he was going to get the climactic monologue, he knew he was going to regret it.

“As you know, all our workers are plants, being established here and then moved off to other counties, soon to be other states, to begin our infiltration and domination of the USPS. We don’t have the benefit of complete reestablishment, like in the 25th Ward. But why should we—”

“Hey, hey, hey, hold up.” Travis, bewildered, held up a hand. “What the _fuck_ are you even talking about?”

“Didn’t they explain it to you?”

Travis glanced back over his shoulder. “No? They don’t speak English, man.”

“Really? But they’re from the Postal Federation’s—”

“So _they’re_ … mailmen?” He looked at them again. Osato smiled back. “But they have, like, guns and shit.”

“They’re part of the… Never mind! Our manager knew they were coming and this is our time. There’s no way we’d be satisfied letting some small-time Japanese governmental agency control us forever, not when they gave us everything we needed to establish ourselves as a force to be reckoned with. Their mistake will start with the deaths of two of their enforcers.”

Travis heaved a painful sigh. “I mean… whatever, where do I fit into this whole thing anyway?”

“Didn’t they come to finalize your recruitment to their American operations?” The guy seemed puzzled now. “Our manager said…” Something came over him suddenly, and he muttered quietly to himself. “Did she…”

“Wow, did your manager lady completely fuck you over?” Travis barked out a laugh. “I think she figured out you were loyal as a fucking snake. Must’ve thought she was better off supported by some small-time agency than striking out on her own.” He flicked out his beam katana, the darkness now swimming with dancing reddish shadows.

“I wouldn’t laugh yet if I were you! Now I know the truth, and you’re still going to die. Of course I had a Plan B if the first attempt didn’t pan out. Here’s your final delivery.” He tossed a box to their group, sickly smirk arching across his face— Tsuki, moving quickly, managed to catch it before it hit the ground. “I’d open it immediately if I were you. Or you can accept death now.”

“It’s not a bomb, is it?” Travis edged nearer to Tsuki as he sliced open the cardboard. “Don’t you have any other fucking ideas? I’ve done bombs before…” Cause yeah there was totes a bomb in this box. “Are you gonna make us do a puzzle or something to stop it?”

Osato looked at it, puzzled, then let the box fall off the bottom of the device so he could fully inspect. “ _Tsuki, it’s a bomb. I think.”_

“ _Obviously. You got the Catherine Nano?”_

“Oh no, nothing like that. There is a password, but as you can see, there’s nowhere to input a code.” Travis looked, if only to be sure: sure enough, the mailman was right. He swore. “And if you take a single step to escape, I’m detonating it, and it’ll kill you and your friends.”

“ _Yep! Hm… I need to find the jack…”_ Osato looked near the number pad. “ _Might take a sec to find.”_

“They’re not... “ Travis frowned. It wasn’t quite _friendship_ , but maybe a sense of camaraderie that stayed his denial. They hadn’t tried to really kill him yet, despite spending a couple hours together, which was pretty good considering his track record. “Alright, what the fuck do you want then? Just wanna watch us die, you fucking freak?”

“No. You have three options. Blue, green, or red. Cut a wire, and your friend’s lives are in your hand.”

Damn, this guy had really planned for them to be friendly allies if this was the gimmick. Travis grimaced. He was sweating a little, looking at the mess of wires and crap in Osato’s hands. The wires to cut were obvious, but he didn’t want to do it immediately. The countdown timer had over a minute left, so he could think, and he glanced back at the guy. Maybe he was wearing a color that was a clue… maybe the blue of the mail logo thing… oh but there was red too… maybe that meant it was green? He was just going to have to pick one, wasn’t he… fuck, he didn’t wanna get killed like this.

“ _There, found it! Hm, Tsuki, any idea what the password might be?”_

_“I got no idea...”_

“ _I-L-O-V-E-M-A-I-L.”_ A couple of beeps later, and Osato tapped his fingers, frustrated. “ _Nope. Uh… stamps...?”_

_“It’s not gonna be stamps…”_

_“Envelope.”_

_“Just because he’s a mailman doesn’t mean it’s going to be related!"_

_“Okay, B-O-M-B…”_ The Catherine emitted a negative sound.

Time was ticking down. Maybe if he just… cut all of them at once, it’d be okay? “Fuck…” he said to himself, gesturing to Osato in a downward way. “Put it down… down? On the floor…”

Osato understood, but stayed crouched over it. “ _Well, there’s always…”_

“Hey, um… Can you move? Osato?” He was peered up at, and made a pushing motion. “Move… away?” Maybe if he did it right, he could slap it away before it exploded, that might work… but Osato wasn’t getting off of it, still fiddling with something. “Hey, you can’t do anything!” Ten seconds were left.

“ _Ugh, I hate spelling in English. P-A-S-S-W…”_

Five seconds. Travis grabbed Osato’s shoulder to shove him off, and Tsuki grabbed _his_ shoulder with a smoldering glare. “Hey, I’m trying to _help!”_

He wrestled away, and readied his sword like a golfer. “Here goes—!”

“ _There!”_

The display’s light dimmed as Travis smacked it with the broad(ish) side of the lightsaber, slicing most of the wiring and sending it flying into the corner of the room, where it sat and did nothing.

“ _Careful, this might be delayed too!”_ They were much closer to it this time, and Tsuki shoved Osato behind himself protectively.

The silence stretched on long enough to indicate it was truly disarmed, and Osato laughed as he emerged from behind Tsuki. “ _I told you it was fine! That was really nice of you, Tsuki, but I woulda been pissed if you blocked me from seeing an explosion.”_

“ _Remind me not to bother saving your ass…_ ”

“What… how did you do that?” The mailman was stunned. “If you cut _any_ of the wires it should’ve blown up!”

“Whatever, motherfucker! I’m sick of your tired shit!” Sword extended from his body, Travis raced forward ferociously, blurring into a shape like a wild animal, the arch of his katana’s swing ending high in the air, and then retreating low again.

“Weh,” said the guy.

A sick _whump_ marked the removal of the man’s forearm, and he wailed as he sunk to the floor. His fingers twitched around the detonator he’d surreptitiously drawn out, and Travis tapped the bloodied katana on his own shoulder, like a baseball player’s good luck charm before a pitch.

“If you kill me… you’ll be… sorry…” he gasped, clutching his arm stump, “There’s a dozen more of us, and if you go back there, you’ll get overwhelmed… or you can run, but you’ll be chased… forever…”

“You think I’d be in this if I was afraid? Look, those two guys with me were in line to kill me first. There’s probably a load of people ahead of them, even. No cuts.” Travis snorted. “Well, one more cut.” He swung, and the guy’s head was off, _thump_ ing on the floor and rolling a few feet. “How was that for an explosive end?” he shot back to Tsuki and Osato, who had tired and curious expressions on their faces, respectively.

“ _Woah, I’ve never seen a beheaded_ — _”_

_“Don’t touch it.”_

Osato had approached the head and crouched down, his shoes inches from the widening puddle of blood. “ _I wasn’t gonna_ ,” he lied.

“Oh, right… more Japanese.” He sighed, holstering his deactivated katana and pulling out his phone once more. “Thank god for apps, I guess.” Travis wrote out a sentence, tapped ‘translate’, and passed his phone Osato’s way.

_“The… room behind? Oh, the back room! C’mon, Tsuki!”_

_“Hey, hold on a second—“_

But the two of them were already moving. With one final apprehensive glance at the severed head, Tsuki pulled his knife out and hustled after them to catch up.

 

* * *

 

With some caution, Travis poked his head through the doorway. It was as dark as the room before, but this time, no one was here. “I _knew_ it was a bluff,” he boasted, to people who couldn't understand him no less, pushing the door open fully. “Nothin’.”

“It wasn’t a bluff,” said a voice right next to him.

Travis jumped, waggling his katana out like it would thwart an attack, before breathing out sharply. “Shinobu! What the fuck…”

“Imagine if you died of a heart attack after all this.” She shook the nail file she’d been using and stowed it back in her purse. “You’re slipping, if _one_ gave you so much trouble.”

“That guy? Whatever, I was just giving him a chance.”

“Now who’s bluffing?”

Travis gave another look to the dark area. His light sunglasses didn’t allow the body sized lumps to completely disappear into the shadows, and he approached the closest one to poke at it with his foot. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna bail me out.” He couldn’t help but smirk.

“And I already regret it.” She pushed off the wall.

“ _Hey Shinobi!”_ Osato waved.

 _“_ Shinobu. _Hey, big guy, were these your people after all?”_

Tsuki moved to the body Travis was looking at, checking an ID in his pocket, and then patting down for anything else.“ _Nothing for sure. That’s to be expected. I think something complicated might’ve been going down but...”_ He waved a hand nonchalantly. “ _If they’re all dead, it’s not a problem for us.”_

 _“They are. Definitely._ ”

Tsuki briefly wondered if she’d consider joining the RAB. Good Japanese and willingness to kill without being completely sadistic. Hell, your Japanese didn’t even have to be good.

“ _Kinda anti-climactic though, huh Tsuki?”_ Osato asked, tilting his head. “ _Guess it’s back to_ — _oh.”_ Just then, it dawned on him: there wasn’t anything else in the way of finishing their actual job— and he was standing right here in a room with them, completely distracted. It was probably better to not give Travis much opportunity to remember and reciprocate; in other words, they needed to do this immediately. Tsuki shot Osato a knowing _look_ to convey this. Shooting a man in the back might’ve been inelegant, but they weren’t goddamn swans.

There wasn’t a sigh or even hesitation from Osato, though his expression was a little harder than usual as he silently and quickly took aim, then pulled the trigger.

A streak of silver flashed in the air, and a sharp crack of metal splitting metal resonated through the room.

“What the _fuck_?” Travis turned slowly, just barely aware, to see Osato with his gun out, surprised, and a katana between him and death. Shinobu’s single visible eye fixed on Travis as if he were a worm. Less, maybe. Dirt.

“Shinobu—”

Glare. “Don’t make me sorry I bisected that bullet instead of you.” She turned to face Tsuki and Osato.

Before she could speak, Osato grinned. “SHIT, _that was cool! Sooo cool Tsuki! Did you see? She cut the bullet in half! Ahhh that was ten times better than an explosion!”_ He practically bobbed with excitement. “ _I’ll never forget! It was like, ban-shingg! It wasn’t just a deflection, that was tight!”_

To her surprise, Tsuki nodded. “ _Yeah, it actually was pretty good.”_

 _“Right?! It was like a movie!”_ Osato seemed settled and pleased. “ _This’s the best vacation ever.”_

“ _We’re working.”_

 _“Even better, paid vacation!_ ”

“So uh… I guess this is it…” Travis drew his katana, which was lucky for him, because Osato decided to shoot at him again, and he unconsciously deflected it, jumping back a little. “Hey, I wasn’t ready!”

“If you get killed, I’m not coming to your funeral,” Shinobu hissed, leaping forward to strike at Tsuki, who had drawn his knife, parrying it away. They exchanged guarded looks.

Osato fired off several more shots at Travis, who awkwardly struck them away with his katana.

“ _Stop wasting them.”_

“ _Tsuki, did we mess up?_ ” He toyed with the next magazine in his pocket.

“ _We’ve dealt with worse._ ” But the situation was now discouraging. They ran into people with swords back home far more often than guns, but they weren’t wielded by people with inhuman skills— they were young upstarts buying the only semi-serious weapon they could get a hold of, or old yakuza trying to use a ceremonial weapon long since rusted into its sheath. Definitely no energy swords. Plus, they didn’t have the advantage of the language barrier like before, so they couldn’t even devise a plan. “ _You changed your attitude quickly,”_ he said with a sideways look.

“ _I don’t think two on one is fair.”_

Another shot rang out, and Travis staggered. “Knock it off!” He thought he was safe while they were mid-conversation, but apparently Osato could be shrewd.

Tsuki looked over Shinobu thoroughly. Apart from the lack of gothic clothes— and people _changed_ clothes, anyway— she completely fit the description of an assassin who’d been active in Japan. Normally he didn’t recall those things, because they weren’t really RAB business if it didn’t happen in the 25th Ward, but her appearance was too memorable for him to forget. So it was two assassins versus two… well, there was no point in lying to himself, two _different_ assassins (but with jobs). “ _Is he a target of yours? If that’s the case_ — _”_ he shrugged “— _It doesn’t matter who pulls the trigger. If you’re looking for payment, it’s yours._ ” That was enough to satisfy any assassin, surely. But her response was strong silence. “ _Look, can you just say yes or no? I don’t want to have to adjust someone not marked for it.”_

“ _Oh, Tsuki, do you think they’re like,”_ Osato lifted his eyebrows, “ _Together, and she’s in love, all what’s it called, tsundere_ — _”_

 _“I’m not!”_ she growled, slicing her katana through the air in agitation.

“ _Osato, think for a second. Would a guy like that have any women after him?”_

Osato laughed. _“You’re right! Otaku are gross.”_

“Otaku? Are you talking about me?”

“ _Um, but like… Tsuki, I think we might be a little outmatched. These odds are only…”_ He frowned, doing real complex math in his head. “ _Fifty-fifty. I think we could do a… whaddya call it. ‘Tactical retreat’, I think.”_

Tsuki shook his head. “ _No, we can handle this if we get serious._ ” The odds weren’t great, and he wasn’t happy about it, but it had to be done. He could duck in and shred Travis’s leg, Osato could cover, and get a finishing shot in when he reflexively couldn’t defend— Tsuki might be grievously injured by Shinobu when he tried, but it looked like she’d have to die too. He shifted his grip, and posed with his knife, ready to dash, and avoid two (2) swords. Yeah, he was about to fucking die, huh…

“ _Tsuki, why don’t we just…”_ Osato pouted. “ _Like, we can let him go? We already let all those civilians get away. Hey, you won’t report us, right?”_

 _“I don’t even understand who you work for, and he doesn’t understand anything.”_ Shinobu sighed.

_“See, see? It’s fine. If you rush in there you’ll get diced into a bunch of cubed Tsuki, and what would I do then?”_

_“You probably don’t remember where our hotel is.”_

_“Yeah, not at all!”_

Tsuki tsked. “ _We’ll be up shit creek if anyone finds out.”_

“Shinobu, what’s going on?”

“Just be quiet.”

“ _Tsuki, if someone finds out, we can… shit…”_ Osato bit his lip. “ _Let’s… say…_ ” He snapped his fingers. “ _We killed his twin brother!_ ”

“ _What the fuck, do you honestly think that’ll work.”_

“ _They’re busy, you know? Who has time to check on every little person who’s supposed to be dead?”_

“ _What if you brought back some evidence?”_ Shinobu asked. “Travis, hold out your hand.”

He started to, as if he were going to shake, then withdrew it quickly with a worried glimpse at her gloved hand. “Wait, why?”

“ _We can’t get that on the plane.”_

Shinobu seemed resigned. “Take off your jacket.”

“The hell, are they exchanging a striptease for my life?” Cautiously, in case Osato used this opportunity to pump him full of bullets cause who knew what the fuck they were chatting about, he slung one sleeve off, then the other, holding his sword the entire time. “What do— hey!”

Shinobu snatched it, and tossed it to Tsuki. “ _Here. He’d never give this up without a fight. It’s the only nice piece he owns, all he’s got are a bunch of gross dumpster shirts otherwise.”_

“ _Tsuki, if this doesn’t work, say I messed up. It happens.”_ He paused, and smirked. “ _A lot, huh?”_

_“Don’t be proud…”_

“ _We’ll take it!”_ Osato overrode any other objections, like he was at an auction, and grabbed the jacket. “ _All our file photos have him in this, so I think it’ll be pretty convincing!”_

“... _Let’s get out of here, this is stupid.”_ Tsuki rubbed his temples, but lowered his knife.

The situation was diffused, or at least any initiative to kill was quickly fizzling out. All other weapons were holstered, with Travis coming in last, cautiously disengaging the beam katana and stowing it on his belt. He felt naked without his jacket. What the fuck was that even about? Did Shinobu actually manage to talk them out of a fight?

“ _Well, we’re going to be off now,_ ” Osato said, then politely, in the manner of something rotely memorized, “It was nice to meet you.”

“Uh, same…” Travis wasn’t sure if he was supposed to shake their hands or not. Probably not. Tsuki turned, with Osato behind him. Travis tilted his head side to side, then offered a a quick “hold up.” He looked to Shinobu, pleadingly. “You probably don’t want to translate but could you do it really quick for me? Please?”

She crossed her arms. “Alright. This once.”

Travis did his best to reiterate what the guy had said, and Shinobu did her best to explain with almost no context. “ _Something about domination of the USPS… a 25th Ward… Postal Foundation_ — Travis, your memory is terrible, you just heard this— _And this whole situation was a setup by the mail guy’s manager, if any of that means anything to you. That’s his guess, anyway.”_ She slyly glanced at Travis’s earnest expression. “ _I’d take it all with a grain of salt, personally.”_

_“Huh. Tsuki, what do you think?”_

_“I think that diver might regret a couple of things; this operation got way out of hand. Thanks for your help.”_ Tsuki frowned. “Thank you,” he repeated, for Travis’s benefit.

“Uh, no problem.”

“See you later! Thank you, Travis and Shinobu!” Osato gave a half wave with a bright smile.

 _“Don’t be so proud you remembered like, one thing,_ ” Tsuki muttered as he lead the way back to the exit.

_“C’mon, why not? I got to use so much English.”_

_“It doesn’t count if it’s just saying ‘cocksucker’ and ‘motherfucker’, everyone knows those.”_

_“Then why didn’t you say it?”_

_“Why would I…?”_

The pair’s bickering faded as they peacefully retreated, leaving Travis alone with Shinobu. As if suddenly realizing whose presence she was in, Shinobu swiftly turned to make her escape through the back route. Travis didn’t really have the option to hesitate right now, and reached out to grab her shoulder, his fingers loosening quickly because she half turned with an expression that made his stomach flop. She was _pissed_.

Still, he had to try, and he licked his lips. “Shinobu, wait.”

“Travis, you—”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I did— ” Okay, he shouldn’t have said those last words.

“You _don’t know_ and you expect me to _accept_ your apology?” Her hand strayed down to the hilt of her katana.

“Come on, Shinobu, I’m really fucking exhausted and, please, I’m sorry, okay? I just… I really don’t know why you’ve been so pissed. I wanna like…” He scratched his head. “Be friends or whatever again. I’m fucking tired of fighting.” Ending that line too abruptly, he frowned. “I mean, not like... “

“Travis, stop talking.” She held up her hand, and looked away. “I can’t believe— you _really_ don’t know?”

“Seriously.”

Shinobu sighed maybe the longest, most dismissive sigh he’d ever heard. “Honestly. I didn’t hear from you for _months_ , Travis. _Months_.” She pointedly didn’t look him in the eye. “I thought you were dead.”

“But—”

“If you wanna make it up to me, _listen_. I was mostly in Japan, and when I was here, I couldn’t find you, and I couldn’t contact you.”

“My phone was broken… and I was busy with some stuff. I just didn’t think it was a big deal…” Looking at her, he felt a sudden pang of guilt. “Sorry… I’m a fucking asshole, okay?”

“Shit talking yourself doesn’t make me feel better. You could’ve contacted me some other way but you didn’t bother, and then when you finally did, you didn’t say _anything_ about it. Like it was normal, and I…” Her eye narrowed. “I was worried, and you made me feel stupid for worrying about you, okay?”

“You could’ve…” He let the words die, because he was just being asshole for real now. “Yeah. Alright.”

She stared at him, and finally her shoulders relaxed. “That’s probably the best apology I’ll ever get from you.” She brushed her hair away from her eye, and back again. “I’m only forgiving you if you never send me shitty memes again, though.”

“What? What else is there to send?” He weakly smiled at her, and she didn’t quite smile back, but she didn’t look like she wanted to kill him anymore.

“I’m serious though, about not always being able to bail you out. You’re lucky I was here.”

“It worked out…” He held up his hands. “And it wasn’t my fault, I have no clue what was going on. Even when that dude _explained_ it didn’t make anything clearer.”

“I can’t help you with that. Just…” She tilted her head a little, as if weighing options. “It sounded complicated. Be careful. It sounds like bad news.”

“Yeah, thanks. I mean, for everything.”

She nodded once. “Alright. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

She silently walked herself to the warehouse style door, not paying any mind to the two bodies near it. He had to leave too, before anything _else_ could happen. “God fucking damnit,” he said to himself, his voice echoing in the quiet room, “What a fucking day.”

 

* * *

  


“We _really_ can’t go to the Space Needle…?” Osato whined, deeply studying an image of it on a postcard he’d bought at their hotel. “We’re in America and we can’t do anything cool at all?”

“Sorry, no. Same answer as Disneyland.”

“Ugh. ID tracking chips are stupid.” He leaned onto the window with a melancholy sigh. “Even though it looks like a UFO crashed on the top?”

“Maybe if everything goes well, we can drive by.”

“Alright…” Honestly, Tsuki was kinda disappointed too. Doing a stakeout in America wasn’t any different from Japan, except there were way less convenience stores, so overall the experience was shittier.

About ten minutes passed before Osato stirred, leaning forward a little, then back. “Tsuki, there’s someone over there…”

“So?”

“I think he noticed us.”  
“We’ll wait a few minutes so it’s not obvious, then take off and come back later.”

“I think he’s coming this way…”

“It’s fine.”

“We can pretend we’re making out.”

“I’m gonna _pretend_ I didn’t hear you.”

Osato hummed. “He’s totally packing.”

“Seriously? Fucking Americans…” Tsuki looked, squinting to make out his face better. “Does he…” His memory clicked, and he couldn’t help but slam his hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck! Fucking… shit!”

“Tsuki, calm down!”

“That guy is in the HCU… fuck. What the fuck is he…” His mind suddenly raced. What was the connection here? Was this something they were investigating too? Or, if he had left them and was doing this on his own, what did that mean...

“Tsuki, let’s just go—!”

It was too late. Tsuki had totally locked eyes through the windshield as he approached, and he bit his lip when Kusabi stopped next to his cracked open window. “Open the back door.”

Tsuki did, and Osato shot him a panicked look. “What are—”

“Both of you calm the fuck down.” Kusabi sank into the backseat, gun drawn. “You, drive. I don’t care where, away from here. Keep your hands on the fucking wheel where I can see them.” He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, and lit one. “And tell your cute partner to stop itching his hand toward his gun, or I’ll paint the interior with his brains.”

“Osato—”

“But, Tsuki—”

Tsuki just glanced over at him, and Osato’s mouth clamped shut. He was sure he looked like shit, because Kusabi’s presence was making his head buzz with anxiety and murderous intent, but he pulled away from the curb, winding through the streets. The situation felt like a reversal of their last backseat guest: now, it was like he was kidnapping _them_.

“Now… Christ, why the fuck don’t cars here have ashtrays.”

“Osato, give him my portable.”

Osato gave him a look, then passed it back. Kusabi snorted. “Hey, apparently they train some manners into you RAB dipshits.”

“Tsuki…”

“Quit whining. You lost. You’re lucky I’m not blowing both your heads off.” He tapped his cigarette into the mostly full ashtray. “Now, I’m just gonna explain this once, so listen. What’s going on here is bigger than the RAB. It’s bigger than the HCU. Bigger than the Postal Federation, bigger than…” He gestured with his cigarette. “You get it, right? You fuckheads are nothing in all this. Hey, what’s your name? You, the fucking dumbshit one.”

Even Osato was offended by this, and glowered out the window. “Yotaro Osato.”

“And you, the fucking dumbass.”

“Shinkai Tsuki…”

Kusabi nodded, taking a long drag. “Yeah? I thought I recognized your uglyass face. You worked for Natsume, right?” Tsuki nodded silently. “You weren’t… nevermind. You know Big Dick?”

“What?”

“Guess not.” He fell into silence.

The blocks flew by, suburban streets eventually traded for the city, before he spoke again. “You got it, right? Dogs like you shouldn’t stray far from their territory.” He blew smoke upwards. “Honestly, you should be grateful for this warning.”

“Wow, thanks,” Osato growled sarcastically, maybe in the worst mood Tsuki had ever seen him. Not that he could blame him, being around Kusabi was like having a vice around his head.

“Don’t be a little shit. Hey, pull over. I’m gettin’ out.” Tsuki obeyed. Kusabi paused before he did, leaning forward. “Hey. Look out for your partner. Make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble.” He opened the door and stepped out.

Tsuki frowned. What the hell did he mean by that? Did he have an idea… He couldn’t help himself from looking over at Osato, whose hand was delving into his jacket for his gun. Tsuki grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Tsuki, we can—!”

“No. Just leave it.”

Osato’s expression was uncharacteristically furious. Tsuki held his arm until he felt him relax and give up, sinking down into his seat. “Damn…”

Tsuki tried to calm down too, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel. It felt like they’d both had the shit kicked out of them, and the man hadn’t done so much as raise his hand.

“What’s a guy like that even doing in America, anyway?” asked Osato, sullen.

Kusabi was still watching them closely as they drove away. He grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror as they got further away, grinding his extinguished cigarette into the pavement under his heel in the growing distance. When Tsuki finally rounded a corner, he was gone.

“Beats me.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t like Osato was super emotionless or stupidly masculine, but Tsuki had never expected to hear him downright _giggle_. “What’re you laughing at?”

“Huh? Nothing!” He turned his phone off. “Just something funny.”

“Obviously.” Tsuki squished around in his seat. He glanced out the window. At least at the end of this stakeout there was a payday coming… As annoying as some aspects of America had been, being able to expense everything (within reason) wasn’t a pleasure he usually got to enjoy.

“Tell me, c’mon. I’m bored as hell here.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Whoever your new friend is, they need to stop being such a bad influence on you.” Not long after their return, which had involved way more lying to the boss than he was comfortable with, Osato had become glued to his phone, referring to a mysterious friend once in a while, who apparently _wasn’t_ a member of some fucking cake club.

Osato seemed to be waiting on something, then sighed (with pity!). “Fine, here Tsuki…” He turned his phone back on to show what he had been looking at, carefully positioned on the screen to hide the sender. “I don’t think you’ll get it though, it’s— wait, what’re you doing?”

Tsuki had put his finger up to it. “I’m zooming in, the text is too small.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tsuki scrolled up to look at the name on the other side of these texts. “Osato… how did you get his number?”

“Hey! You tricked me.” Osato clutched his phone like he’d been stung.

“You didn’t even give him a fake name… Look, I’m almost impressed, because there was like, no time to exchange information.” He held up a finger. “Almost. Cause, you’re upping the chances of us getting caught by, you know, a hell of a lot.”

“It’s fine!” Osato squirmed. “We just talk about stuff. And sometimes he sends me pictures of doujin and I tell him what it says.”

“You know people pay good money for that, so he’s taking advantage of you, but secondly that’s fucking gross.” His mind pictured the walls of schoolgirls beset by tentacles Osato was absorbing into his dumbass brain.

“It’s fine!”

“Don’t sulk like a teenager.”

Osato shot him an adolescent, harmless glare. “I’m not. It’s cool to have an American friend, and he’s impressed by like, everything over here. And he’s fun to talk to.”

“He doesn’t even know Japanese.”

“It works okay.”

Tsuki imagined the boss giving him orders to cut Osato’s throat… wait. Osato was more important than he was, he’d be the one taking the responsibility for this, probably with death. Probably self-inflicted. Great…

“You’re gonna get _me_ killed…” He said at the same time as a sigh, but Osato was back to his phone anyway. “Just, please don’t mail anything to him.”

Osato stared at him like a surprised cat. “Oh! Yeah, I didn’t think of that at all. Good catch, Tsuki.”

Rubbing his face, Tsuki considered the best ways to off himself before someone else did. At least other members of the RAB would probably let him die with dignity. He wasn’t sure if Osato would laugh or cry if it was his task…

His phone buzzed, and Osato immediately snatched it up to check the message. His smile faltered, and he tilted his head to look at something. “Hm…” Tapping his fingers in quick succession on the screen, he looked at Tsuki. “Hey, does this mean anything to you?”

Tsuki did his best. “Guys in the suit were pulled next to me… worked with you or… something if… does he really write ‘w’ to you?”

“Yeah.”

He rolled his eyes. “I guess he’s trying to ask if someone who works with us was tracking him? Shouldn’t be, it’s not like wearing suits is suspicious or anything.” He thought back to his time in Santa Destroy. Actually, two people in black suits _was_ kind of strange there, everyone was so damn casual. “No one from our unit was there.” Especially because if someone from the RAB knew Travis was still alive, they were back to being in major trouble.

Osato started typing out a message, then stopped. “You don’t think the HCU…?”

Tsuki shook his head. “We have tabs on them. They’re all here and accounted for.” Bringing those assholes up, he couldn’t help but think back to their meeting in Seattle… but that Kusabi guy was in Japan. “Ask him when it was.”

After a few minutes, Osato got a response. “It was yesterday. Um, I guess the time zones might—”

“No… It can’t have been any of us. If he has some other agency after him, it’s nothing to do with you or me, that guy’s probably dug his own grave ten times over.”

Osato shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Oh well.”

They settled into silence. Tsuki felt pensive now… he’d rather feel bored than that, but Kusabi’s words from when they met nagged at him. Maybe they’d investigated two suspect Americans in reverse order… but unless the HCU could teleport or some shit, it was someone else. It had to be.

“Shit… Tsuki, check this out.” Osato’s voice was grim.

Cautiously, he looked at the offered screen. He felt vaguely like he was on an imaginary borderline, between knowing too much and not enough, and once he stepped over it, it was accepting there was no way to escape—

“...Osato.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy. This cat is hella long, huh?”


End file.
